Hexagon Dilemma: Regarding Hayworth Book II

By L. P. Suzanne Atkinson

Book II of the Regarding Hayworth Series:

Gaby Ridgway is forty and widowed. She moves to the small town of Hayworth, Alberta the summer of 1977 in an attempt to rebuild, restore, and renew her life.

Her career as a family counsellor for the Alberta government Department of Health and Welfare is jeopardized by a suspicio

• Language: English
• Publisher: lpsabooks
• Release date: Apr 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9780994959010

L. P. Suzanne Atkinson

L. P. Suzanne Atkinson was born in New Brunswick, Canada and lived in Alberta, Quebec, and Nova Scotia before settling on Prince Edward Island in 2022. She has degrees from Mount Allison, Acadia, and McGill universities. Suzanne spent her professional career in the fields of mental health and home care. She also owned and operated, with her husband, both an antique business and a construction business for more than twenty-five years. Suzanne writes about the unavoidable consequences of relationships. She uses her life and work experiences to weave stories that cross many boundaries. She and her husband, David Weintraub, make the fabulous Summerside, Prince Edward Island home.Email - [e-mail] - http://lpsabooks.wix.com/lpsabooks#Face Book - L. P. Suzanne Atkinson - AuthorFace Book - lpsabooks Private Stash

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Hexagon Dilemma

Regarding Hayworth

Book II

L. P. Suzanne Atkinson

lpsabooks

http://lpsabooks.wix.com/lpsabooks#

Copyright © 2016 by L. P. Suzanne Atkinson

First Edition — May, 2016

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information browsing, storage, or retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover Design by Adam Murray

Cover Photography by David Weintraub

Editing by Lesley Carson

ISBN

978-0-9949-5902-7 (Paperback)

978-0-9949-5901-0 (eBook)

1. Fiction, Contemporary Women

2. Fiction, Psychological Suspense

Distributed to the trade by the Ingram Book Company

Printed in the USA

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Don’t discuss the situation with anyone

Chapter 2: This won’t be easy

Chapter 3: Where to, Miss?

Chapter 4: Pearl’s door is always open

Chapter 5: Your hands are tied

Chapter 6: Everyone knows this is your truck

Chapter 7: There will no doubt be changes

Chapter 8: Sorry if I messed you up

Chapter 9: Grain dust on a windy day

Chapter 10: She looks like a tough customer

Chapter 11: Maybe she took off

Chapter 12: There were no signs of a struggle

Chapter 13: It kept me up all night

Chapter 14: Keep your hands off my husband

Chapter 15: Past acts cannot be revealed

Chapter 16: What harm would it do?

Chapter 17: You need to stop

Chapter 18: You can’t live like this

Chapter 19: Shall we give it a go?

Chapter 20: Have I hit the high points?

Chapter 21: Perhaps that ship has sailed

Chapter 22: They have a bond

Chapter 23: Who’s going to take her caseload?

Chapter 24: It might be too late

About the Author

Ethics is knowing the difference between

what you have a right to do and what is right to do.

—Potter Stewart

There are only two types of people in this world;

those who have a conscience and those who do not.

—P. A. Speers

Other works by L. P. Suzanne Atkinson

~Creative Non-Fiction~

Emily’s Will Be Done

~Fiction~

Ties That Bind

Station Secrets: Regarding Hayworth Book I

For David

Thank you to Pauline, Wyneth, Kat, Marguerite, Barb,

and my editor, Lesley Carson.

Chapter 1

Don’t discuss the situation with anyone

November 10, 1981

The investigator is wedged behind an aged government surplus mahogany veneered desk. His back is to the wall. His elbows look elevated. He is a diminutive man. The desk seems to envelope him. Perhaps the office chair could be raised into a more optimum position. She does not suggest this. His feet probably wouldn’t touch the floor. He possesses the look of a rodent with glasses—a balding ferret peeking out at her from behind the desk, and from behind black readers that serve to bisect his pointy, moustached face. She speaks only when spoken to. It has been a gruelling morning.

Edgar Novakovic works for the Canadian Counselling Alliance, of which Gaby Ridgway has been a member in good standing for the last eighteen years. There is the distinct possibility her status will change when the ferret completes his report.

Miss Ridgway. He looks up from the sheaf of papers askew on the desk—bereft of accoutrements, except for a telephone and a lamp.

She propels herself back from her drift to safety. Sir?

"Our Code of Ethics clearly states, and I quote: ‘Information from counselling sessions must be kept confidential unless the counsellor is made aware of a situation that obviously puts the client or another party into immediate danger’. Are you telling me you believe you have fulfilled this requirement in our Code of Ethics?"

Gaby forces herself not to wipe her sweaty palms on her stove-pipe wool slacks purchased especially for this interview. Under normal circumstances, she would be in soft, baggy linen, and certainly more comfortable. In most meetings, she brings her knitting. It helps her to focus; helps her to think. Mr. Novakovic, I feel I did not perform unethically, regardless of the letter from my former client. She is a ruthless person. She will be held accountable for her behaviour. That is her doing, not mine. I merely tried, when asked, to assist in the protection of a third party. I’m happy to continue to answer all your questions. I did not betray her confidence! She worries she might sound whiny, or even desperate.

Her ass is sore. The chair she was offered at the commencement of this meeting is a straight-backed, armless wooden one. Her slacks are itchy and her bum is even more annoyed with this experience than her brain. She has been trapped in the sterile, ownerless office for almost an hour, and he continues to grill her with the same questions.

Do you mind if I stand up for a bit, sir?

He looks quizzical but not annoyed. Back problems?

I like to stretch now and then, she explains as she unfolds her lean frame into a vertical position. She can’t force herself to sit on that chair, in these pants, for a moment longer. Besides, perhaps if the ferret is forced to look up at her while he asks his questions, he might be a wee bit intimidated. Maybe that’s not a good idea. She’ll sit again soon.

Let’s review your education history, Miss Ridgway. Tell me where you went to school, university. Paint me a picture. He looks up. His face is blank. She tries not to let this absence of expression unnerve her.

Gaby returns to the wooden chair. She attempts, with limited success, to smooth her curly, yet wispy hair, and sighs as she begins. I grew up in a little farming community called Clair, about an hour outside Kingston, Ontario. I loved our counsellor in high school. I wanted to be exactly like her. She sighs again. She feels, with sudden realization, that sharing her personal story may be a fruitless attempt to improve her sinking status. It will, in all likelihood, make no difference.

Edgar Novakovic nods when she pauses. This simple gesture gives her the right amount of encouragement, enabling her to continue.

When I graduated from high school, I went to Kingston Community College. I would have preferred university—like Waterloo or Toronto—but going to KCC enabled me to live at home. We didn’t have a lot of money. I obtained my counselling certificate and landed a position at the Middle School in Clair, as their guidance counsellor. I was with them from 1963 until four years ago, the summer of 1977, when I accepted a position in the Counselling Division here at Provincial Government Services in Hayworth. She leans her back against the hard chair, satisfied with her answer.

May I ask you why you left your guidance counselling position five years ago?

Gaby smiles—a sad smile—and responds. I wasn’t investigated for an ethical issue, if that’s your question, Mr. Novakovic. My husband died of cancer two years after we were married. He was a math teacher. I stuck around for a while, but was in desperate need of a change, so here I am. No more details, she hopes. You can check with the school administrator, sir. You have all the contact information in your file. They will confirm my tale of woe. The words have a tenor of resignation about them. She doesn’t care. I signed a waiver so you may discuss the situation with them.

I already have, is his immediate reply.

Gaby’s mind starts to wander again. She wishes she could talk to Joe. He has been such a good friend, a rock, throughout this mess. He doesn’t ask questions he realizes she can’t answer. It helps. Office colleagues are as supportive as they can be considering she can’t discuss her circumstances. Right now she feels abandoned, regardless. She fights to muffle another sigh.

Her attention is drawn to the narrow window in the corner. Mere slivers of natural November light snake into the shadowed office. She thinks she can see snowflakes whirling around outside. Snowing already. White is here to stay for sure, and it’s only the day before Remembrance Day. Gaby still has a bit of trouble coping with the long, dark, and oftentimes decidedly cold northern winters.

Edgar Novakovic switches on the desk light. It only serves to make the room appear shadowed as the gloom increases. Gaby misses her mid-morning coffee break. She tries a hostess approach. Mr. Novakovic, would you like a cup of coffee or tea? I can slip out to the staff room and get you whatever you might prefer. It would only take a moment.

He looks up from his file folder, startled, as if he’s surprised she’s still there. That would be very kind, Miss Ridgway. Coffee, please, with a little cream and one sugar. I appreciate the offer.

She jumps to her feet, turns, and reaches for the door knob before he can reconsider. Coming right up! Back in a flash! She sprints down the hall, feeling temporarily free of her jailer. The staff room is shared by all the divisions—Addictions, Child Protection, Mental Health, Adoption, Income Security, and her own group, Counselling. Staff members mill in. There are four coffee pots full and waiting. Gaby is thankful someone has put the coffee on already. One of the biggest complaints in the office is that people will drain the last of the coffee and leave the empty pots on the counter as if they’re too good to grab a filter, empty in a packet of coffee, and add water. The process isn’t rocket science.

She fetches her own mug from the cupboard and finds a guest mug upturned on the sideboard. As she’s filling both, co-workers appear in the doorway. There are looks full of unasked questions and grunts of acknowledgement. Everyone knows the investigator is here today, but there won’t be a soul with the balls to ask her how she feels—at least not for now. Everyone is skittish. They have supported her all along as she’s tried to navigate the unpredictable behaviour of a sociopath, but now that there’s an official inquiry, people keep their distance. She doesn’t blame them. Mimi, their secretary, is the exception as she openly expresses her outrage at the Canadian Counselling Alliance for even considering Gaby as the subject of their questions.

As she leaves the staff room and starts down the hall toward the central reception area and through to the counselling wing, she passes Cheryl Nadler from Adoption Services. She never goes for coffee. She must be in reception to meet a client. Cheryl walks by, looks Gaby in the eye, nods, and pats her gently on the arm. It’ll be fine, she whispers. Don’t worry. She continues on her way. Gaby is thankful for the support, but how the hell would Cheryl know if it will be okay or not? She may have to explore the possibility of bussing tables at the Hayworth Diner before this ordeal is over, and here she is with a mortgage barely two years old!

She quietly slips back into the interrogation room—office—occupied by Edgar Novakovic. She places his coffee on the desk, and responds to his nod of appreciation with one of her own. She returns her bum to the hard wooden chair, and holds her coffee in one hand while she smoothes her sweater with the other. She loves this sweater. It is cotton, pale yellow, and her own creation. She thinks of it as her lucky sweater; her you-can-get-through-whatever-happens sweater. She knit it when she took a leave of absence from her job to care for Grant as he died from testicular cancer. She rubs her hand across the ribbing one more time. It gives her comfort.

Edgar Novakovic looks up. Miss Ridgway, we are almost done for now. I have to meet with the complainant to get her side of the story. To be frank, I would rather hear that before I get more details from you. I have her letter. I will meet with her to fill in any blanks I have resulting from the letter. Then I will contact you for a second interview. Please don’t discuss this situation with anyone. I expect that’s difficult, but circumstances are better served if you keep the details to yourself until the inquiry is resolved. I hope you understand.

Gaby’s mind snaps back to the night in October when, in desperation, she called her sister and told her every detail. Her sister is back east. That discussion shouldn’t count. Fine with me, sir. Honestly, an investigation by one’s professional association is not a topic of conversation in which I’m anxious to engage. Do you have any idea how long before you would like to see me again?

No later than a couple of weeks. Let’s set a date for November 25th, early in the morning. Would you be kind enough to book this spare office once again?

Gaby nods. Another two weeks to stew. Well, tomorrow is a stat holiday, so getting away from the office for the day will be a blessing she can count.

Enjoy your day off tomorrow, Miss Ridgway. He stands and offers his hand across the desk. I will finish my coffee while I sort out my notes. You may go back to your own work now.

She is summarily dismissed.

A couple of minutes later, she’s seated in her own cozy office with the door firmly shut. She gazes out her window at the snow now starting to drift. It will be a challenge at the cenotaph tomorrow.

She thinks about all the wonderful people she’s met in Hayworth since she came here five years ago—intriguing clients and fabulous people in the community. Initially, it was hard to make friends outside of work but that has changed over time. She feels accepted, and now this. It is no secret who wrote the letter of complaint to the Canadian Counselling Alliance. Her former client has no credibility in the office, but the CCA may look at the issue from a different perspective. They will follow the rule book to the letter. She hopes she won’t have to leave Hayworth, her house, her friends, or Joe.

Chapter 2

This won’t be easy

1977

Nina’s chaotic kitchen is bathed in soft late July afternoon sunshine. The white on white colour scheme is accented with Victorian majolica pottery—green leaf platters and jugs shaped like tree trunks with exotic birds for handles. The stuff is the epitome of ugly meets beautiful. It once belonged to their mother. Gaby told Nina she could have it all and has never regretted the decision, regardless of what some people said about value and collectability.

Gaby has come to Kingston for lunch and the afternoon. Her task is to tell her younger sister about what has been a heart-wrenching decision to move away. She watches Nina make sandwiches and carry on what seems like three conversations at once while she lays out bread, assembles ingredients from the fridge, and periodically looks at Freddie. The baby is busy pounding the tray table of his high chair with a green plastic car. The older Nina gets, the more she reminds Gaby of their mother. She wonders what it would be like to see them side by side now.

Lunch will be ready in a minute, Elly. You can take your brothers out on the deck to eat. How’s that? Craig. Josh. Go wash your hands. Lunch is almost ready. You can eat outside with Elly. She looks over at Gaby with amusement. Can you make sure they get washed up? I’m almost organized, and then we can have a proper visit. She pushes a strand of soft brown hair off her forehead while she puts the finishing touches on the sandwiches.

Gaby rounds up the children and settles them outside at their table-set on the deck. She delivers sandwiches and juice in colourful plastic cups. They’re all excited that Aunt Gaby’s come for the afternoon. They’re good kids; rowdy but good. Nina encourages them to explore and ask questions. She insists they play together without fighting. She does a good job with them. Gaby returns to the kitchen and beams down at Freddie, named after his grandfather. She hopes Freddie grows up to resemble his namesake, a kind and generous man who loved his family and worked hard every day. Fred Ridgway and Eleanor, their mother, were killed in a head-on crash with a tractor trailer while on their way to Nina’s to celebrate Nina and her husband’s first Christmas together. It was a horrible time. Gaby has since struggled with the celebratory aspect of the holiday. She wonders what it might be like to spend Christmas without Nina’s children to salve the wound that reopens every year.

This won’t be easy. Once the children are settled, Nina brings the coffee pot and two sandwiches to the round glass table in the eating alcove. You look so sad, Gaby. Are you okay? You’ll be back at school in no time. She’s smiling, but there’s anxiety around the edges.

I’ve accepted a job as a counsellor in Hayworth, Alberta, Nina. It starts right after Labour Day. The house sale is finalized. I’ve notified the school board, and the Alberta government will move me in a couple of weeks. She manages to get it all out in one breath.

Nina’s lips purse in thoughtful surprise. She absentmindedly occupies one hand on Freddie’s tray while not taking her eyes off her sister. Tears start to well up as Gaby blunders forward.

She drags her eyes away from the loose thread on the pocket of her pale blue sun dress and forces them to meet her sister’s gaze. The rest of the words come out in a rush. I have to make a change, Nina. I can’t stay here. I feel like I’m trapped in a dark room. Everyone looks at me like I’m the poor young woman who has no children and whose husband died from cancer. They’re right, but it doesn’t help.

Nina finally regains her composure. Gaby, why didn’t you talk to me? All the details seem to be settled. You sold your house, landed a new job, and never said a word to me! Her voice is brittle somehow. Gaby doesn’t want her to be angry. She needs her support.

I was afraid you’d talk me out of it.

Where the hell is Hayworth, Alberta, anyway?

The pressure in Gaby’s chest is relieved like magic. Nina will be okay, eventually. She knows her sister. She’ll come around. She just needs information. Hayworth, if we look on a map, which I have done a dozen times already, is about a six hour drive north of Edmonton. It isn’t very big—a few thousand people—but it has a hospital and a couple of schools. People farm, I guess. There are churches and a grocery store. There’s a Ford dealership. The supervisor for the Counselling Division has found a house for me to rent within walking distance of the office. The people who owned it moved to Edmonton but decided to keep their house. I sold my car, too. I thought I’d keep Grant’s truck and drive it to Hayworth. It seems more appropriate to own a truck since I’ll be well into cowboy country.

She’s aware that people have often wondered out loud why she never parted with Grant’s 1973 Mazda Rotary pick-up. She says it comes in handy and is easy to drive because of its size, but the truth is that she loved the little black truck from the moment he bought it. She loved how happy he was in it. She knew, at the time, he wouldn’t get many opportunities behind the wheel. When they chose it together, he had already started to go downhill. It was important to him that she like the truck, and the reason why floated rudderless between them.

Nina gets up and starts to tidy the kitchen. The older kids are still outside. Freddie looks like he needs a snooze. With her back to Gaby, Nina asks, How did you manage to find a job to apply for way out there?

Nina isn’t quite on board yet. Gaby can tell. Her sister asks questions to fill in the space as she makes an attempt to rationalize. She wants to avoid the inevitable—there won’t be a lot of afternoons like this in their future. I went to the Ontario Teachers’ Union office and read about guidance counsellor competitions in the north. Alberta Department of Health and Welfare had an open competition for counsellors and I applied. They did telephone interviews and offered me a position in either Hayworth or a place called Bear Creek near the Territories border. I opted for Hayworth. She grins at her sister’s back. Bear Creek has an ominous sound—bears and all that. Besides, the location is about five hours north of Hayworth again.

Nina turns to look at Gaby. You sold your house and I didn’t even know you put it on the market! God, Gaby! I thought we were friends! I thought we could tell one another all our secrets! I feel betrayed by you. I don’t want to feel this way. Talk to me.

Gaby shakes her head and runs her fingers through her hair, fine like Nina’s but a lighter shade and annoying with natural curls that never behave themselves. I made up my mind I would not be talked out of this, Nina. Her voice is firm. The last two years have been hateful. You know that. You know every detail. You told me I needed to see a therapist, for God’s sake! Her voice softens a little. Nina has returned to the table, reached for a drowsy Freddie, and has started to cradle the little boy in her arms. If I told you what I was up to, you would have tried to change my mind, and I would have let you. It breaks my heart to leave you, Craig, and these little mutts. She points at Freddie and sweeps her outstretched arm toward the backyard. I have to do this, Nina, for myself. She looks straight at her sister with what she hopes is an expression of resolve.

How did you manage to sell your house without me knowing about it, Gaby? There’s a hint of forgiveness on Nina’s face now.

Do you remember the teacher who came up to me at Grant’s funeral and asked about my house? You remember the big guy with the sloppy suit and the worse manners?

Nina nods.

"Well, I went to him after I accepted the position out west and told him he could have the house if he still wanted it. I told him ninety thousand and we would each have our own lawyer. He took the deal and possession is in two weeks. Once the movers get here, the place is